Unmade
by Kayzo
Summary: The souls are everywhere, and they will never leave him, he is sure. But what about when he wants them to? Continuation of 'Souls'
1. LOVEME

It almost hurts, having so much good in him. He can do _so much_ that it is as if each and every soul is calling out for a different direction to be taken, a different person to be helped and it is overwhelming and he needs to _go_, go now and let the world know that their new God is benevolent. But he cannot.

Even now, as God, even with this power roaring inside him like a solar flare, he is still tethered to the spot by these humans in a way that should be impossible.

The souls hush him; do not allow his mind to dwell on the _whys_. He can help them. He can forgive their transgressions and take away their pains. He can give them _salvation_ and that makes him _great_, they say.

Sam, the boy with the demon blood, the one who had looked at him as if he were something great when they had shaken hands so long ago, now looked at him in horror. Something within him twisted and he fights for understanding. He is a kind God. He has forgiven Sam. Even when the blade had dug into Him (torn through flesh and scraped bone, landing in the empty hollow where his grace should have been. Now there were only souls and He struggled to remember a time when that wasn't so, the souls everywhere within him, but it is hard and he stops), He had already forgiven Sam. Sam had done much folly and He has forgiven him. Sam had looked at Him like He was great. Now He _is_ great, so, so great and Sam will look at Him like that again, He is sure.

His eyes move, stop on the man that is at once so much and so profoundly useless that the souls move in agitation, urging Him on. But even as a God, He cannot escape the gaze of the man that had so confused Him as an angel. But now, now that He can see every atom, every thought, desire, feeling, _everything_ of the man, surely he is no longer a mystery.

He had put him together from nothing. And just as then, when He had lifted this man from the ashes of hell and then saved him from his _own_ hell, his eyes were the same. Those eyes that were so suited to showing love held only defiance and pain.

He did not _cause _pain! The rage within Him was not entirely His own. He made things _better,_ made people _happy_. How _dare_ he! It was not _He_ that had put that pain there, in those green eyes that He had come to lo—the souls quickly came, distracting, lead him away from his heavenly rage and He wondered distantly, what it was that Dean (_Dean_) saw in His eyes.

_(Dead. They were dead. Brighter than ever before, shiny and shimmering and beautiful, glowing with a light that was not their own, but dead all the same. Like an exploding star, the light is brighter for moments or millennia to the naked eye but there is nothing to it. Whatever planets had been around it were violently destroyed and whatever life it could have had or would have had is gone, gone, gone.)_

His eyes caught on the faint glow on Dean's shoulder, the sight of the last of His grace and it is as if the sword is going through Him again. The feelings He should not have had as an angel, and certainly not as a God, arise. Now the last of His grace is left on the man who will not bow to his very creator.

That feeling, the one feeling of helplessness that the souls do not share in as they do his anger and hurt, rise swiftly as a high wave meant to drown. They _need_ to bow to Him, show Him their love for He is _God_ and He is _right._ And _why can't they see that?_

With…with all this power inside Him, all these lights of purpose and divinity they should _see_ it, see how He is right and that they need to love Him for He is _all_. They need to love Him so He can _save _them.

_Love me, love me, love me, loveme, loveme, lovemelovemelovemelovemelovemeloveme_

The souls shower Him in it, love and affection and attention, more than He has ever had before, but His chest still aches where the vessel's heart still beats and so the souls smother that too, strangle the organ until no more blood flows through His veins, only the quicksilver of souls.

_Better? Better?_ They soothe, calming and caressing the tattered remains of what is _Cas_ like a mother bringing their child to their breast, threading their fingers through His hair and telling Him that _everything is all right now._

It still hurts this unending and incomprehensible swirl of desperation and need and loneliness, but He does not think of it and the souls tuck it away in the un-beating heart, protecting Him from the pain.

The souls and He, they are friends, He supposes. They take what He has left to offer. They do not get mad that it is little, that He has already given so, so much that there is very little left. They take and take, but they do not spurn him. They follow His path. They help Him. They trust Him. They _believe_ in Him. They understand that He is _right_. But best of all, they don't hurt Him. And they don't send Him away.

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><p>Reminder, this is the continuation of <em>Souls<em> but this story can certainly be a stand alone. I hope you're enjoying it!


	2. BELIEVEME

"No."

It's a small, insignificant word. One that should mean nothing to Him as He now is, but it is one that stills even the souls inside of Him.

"No?" Incomprehensible. The souls shift, move agitatedly within Him. They do not like this man made of flesh, held together by determination threaded through with grace. The souls call for movement. They want to leave; think of all the people He can save, surely these few are not worth the many. But He strikes them down, dismissing the idea with a harsh though. The souls recede but simmer. He does not notice.

"No."

Those violent green eyes are demanding. The human was always so demanding. Demanding help. Demanding information. Demanding explanation. His hand is raised before He thinks it, but when Dean Winchester hits the wall hard, the other two making an aborted move to go to him before He strips them of their voices and ability, a thrill goes through the souls and He feels validated.

He walks slowly over to the frail human, watches closely as he struggles to sit up. The hurt that flashes in his eyes makes the corner of His mouth pull up. When they turn jade and hard He frowns and flicks His hand, making the boy fly into another wall, plaster falling around him like snow.

"I am everything." The souls' smug satisfaction is annoying, He dismisses them again, "You are worthless."

"Then why don't you kill me Cas?" his voice is rough and meant to anger Him, He knows, "if I'm so worthless and you're so awesome, huh? What am I doing alive? How 'bout this; you _can't_ kill me because I'm still God's little toy soldier and even high on soul juice you're still just a scared angel on an ego trip, so fucking full of himself—" Dean goes flying into the opposite wall.

"I am _merciful_." His voice stay calm, the souls leech out the anger, the desperation and the fear, feed on it.

"You are alive because I am merciful."

The broken body before Him spits out blood, gives a dry, humorless laugh, "I'd rather have the big Guy who didn't give a fuck."

The souls flare up like a gasoline fed fire, ready to eat away at the forests in the boy's eyes. He notices a trickle of blood on the boy's temple. He leans down, the boy does not flinch. He heals him, benevolent always, even to those who oppose him the most.

"I am good"

The souls agree, disjointedly and hurriedly ready to fly away on wings of righteous intent but again He stops them. It is not them that need to concede. It is the single soul in front of him, the one He saved before He was great. The frail man does not look gracious as the forgiven and the healed should and He falters.

"You're confused, Cas."

His anger grows. The souls' anger turns towards him. _This man is insignificant_, they say, _worthless, leave him to rot. _He does not hear them.

"I am not that worthless angel, that powerless coward who you led around like a dog at your beck and call. He let himself be used by the likes of _you…_ _He_ is the useless and confused one. _I_ am _God_." The souls are happy again, feeding on the self-mutilating inadequacies the littlest angel could never overcome. They surge through his veins with new found vigor. A long dry lake fills with water.

The souls sooth him, _yes_, they whisper (He thinks for an instant that they sound like Eve), _you were less than nothing but we came and made you everything. Rejoice._

He turns, he has wasted too much time here; His flock is in need.

The frail man must sense it, "No!" he seems to struggle for words, "I know I've…I mean, I'm not the best at—" he runs a hand over his healed face, already taking for granted his new God's mercy, "you're not worthless, Cas. You're awesome and funny and always _there_ when I've needed you most and, damn it, I took it for granted, abused your trust in me, but Cas, you've never been worthless or some dog to us, you know that." There's conviction there.

He is stuck for a moment, both dreading and wanting to turn around, to see those eyes alight with something that isn't anger at Him. The souls say _no_, and now, now that they've found that small angel inside him who has never been good enough, he won't (can't?) disagree.

"Cas is dead."

AIDS is cured.


	3. PRAYTOME

People rejoice. They sing praises to their new Savior. The world is alive again.

He hates them all a little bit.

Or maybe it's the souls, He does not know. What He does know is that there is nothing left for the brothers to hunt. Evil is gone. The world is pure as the Garden once was. But the souls still push for action. They wish for better, always better. Whenever the new God tires, the praise Him and love Him and He keeps going (anything for love). When He gets too proud, to joyous, they remind Him of all His mistakes before He was perfect.

Dean never prays to Him.


	4. KILLME

He is so, so tired. Never before has He been this tired. The souls cajole Him onward but He does not move. They comfort Him, coddle Him, promise, promise all will be well, just one more thing to do. For His followers. When that does not rouse Him they turn angry, fighting inside Him, demanding more, demanding never to be still.

He cannot please them.

They see it, they see that He is done, He is useless to them. They spite Him, retract their love and fill Him with their hate. His selfishness has killed the world, they say. The taste of loathing is left in His mouth as they leave Him, abandoning Him like a shirt that is warn through and torn, never really that good to begin with.

The new God dies. Not with a bang, but in silence. There's wetness on his cheeks.


	5. LEAVEME

His heart is not beating.

This should concern him. He forces it to start, every pump of blood an arduous task that he does not feel fit to fulfill. His bones feel like splinters and he cannot muster the energy to blink. When it starts to rain, he likes to think that the world is crying for the loss of its new God.

The broken angel breaks a bit further, curls into a ball on his side, small as he can, and cries. The ashen wings around him wash away.


	6. SAVEME

Later (seconds, days, years), there is a sound. A rumble that reminds him of the hiss and growl of demons as he fought through hell for Dean (his throat tightens, he chokes on a sob). The sounds stay behind him and then there are more sounds—metal hitting metal, boots crunching gravel. He curls in on himself more.

"Hey Cas."

Castiel, Angel of the Lord who found a broken soul in the depths of hell, who rebelled against heaven and saved the world, who killed his brothers, who fought Raphael's attempt to restart the apocalypse, who ingested souls from purgatory, who lost everything then lost it again, who did everything for the right reasons, who does not know _what _he is, let alone _who_, that Castiel, that Cas, he rolls on his back and croaks out, raspy and dry, "Dean."

When Dean and Sam take him to the Impala, Sam at the wheel while Dean tends to him, Cas wonders if he's worth saving.

There's a pressure on his temple. The 'Always' is whispered into his skin.

Cas lets himself sleep.

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><p>Thanks for sticking with this! I do hope you enjoyed it, reviews are always loved!<p> 


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